Kiss the Girl
by Dailenna
Summary: [Royai] Roy is trying to avoid work when a familiar pixie appears on his shoulder to sing some sense into him. Spoilers for Episode 25Chapter 14


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Fullmetal Alchemist. It and all of its characters belong to Arakawa Hiromu. I also do not own the song "Kiss the Girl" – it belongs to Disney's "The Little Mermaid", despite that I changed two or three lines to appropriate the setting to an office as opposed to a blue lagoon.

**Warning:** Spoilers for Episode 25/Chapter 15, and OOCness – can't have a parody without _someone_ being OOC.

"**Kiss the Girl**" by **Dailenna**

Another boring day at the office: documents to be read, dotted lines to be signed, and windows to be stared out of. And while Roy Mustang was getting one of the three done, he made no pretence at his current occupation being either of the former options.

To one side of the room were the men under his control, all goofing off to some extent, but generally getting their work done in the process. How they managed such a good balance was a mystery to him. And why would they want to if they had any chance of getting away with doing nothing?

"Colonel, back to work." There she was; his guardian angel. The sort that always makes you go crazy when you're around her: blonde eyes, wine-red hair, handy with a nose and only comes up to your gun – you know the sort. She was always watching over him to make sure he had everything up to scratch: skills, fitness, health. Work.

"Guardian angel indeed," came the derisive snort. Roy jumped. He was most certainly paying attention now. All his Lieutenant gave him was a wary frown before she returned to her work. Unless he had spoken aloud previously, it evidently hadn't been her talking. "Up here, bozo. A little closer to home."

Roy looked around desperately, and finally felt a jab on his neck. He turned his head and stopped the yell rising through his chest just before it escaped. Perched upon his shoulder was a pint-sized pixie, in the shape of his best friend. "M-Maes?" he stuttered.

"Shhh!" The miniature put a finger to his lips before looking over at the Lieutenant. "She'll hear you if you talk too loud. She already thinks you're crazy – you don't want her to _know_." Roy frowned. "If you just talk under your breath, I can still hear you. Sensitive ears."

Something didn't feel right about this. He was sitting in his office, with a pile of papers in front of him, and a bright sun outside calling him to escape from the workload. That was completely normal, but the _talking pixie on his shoulder_ was a dead give-away that something was wrong in the world of Roy Mustang. Was he going insane, or was this real?

"So you're invisible?" Roy murmured, barely moving his lips.

"You betcha! Handy skill I gained a hold of with the whole – you know – not being alive thing. You can only see me because you're whacko."

The first thing Hughes had affirmed when he returned from the grave was that Roy was no longer sane, of course. Just so that Roy didn't get his hopes up. Hughes didn't want him to think that this was a normal happening.

"Now, Roy, we have some business to take care of," Hughes chirped gaily. He shifted as the shoulder beneath him tensed, and patted Roy through his shirt. "Now, now, it's not all that bad. Just some minor details that we need to get sorted out while I'm around here: even you can't be a loony forever."

Roy picked up his pen and stared at the papers in front of him so that it at least seemed as though he was attempting to work. He felt as though he was going to be here for some time, from the tone in mini-Maes' voice.

"There was a request I made of you when I was still alive, and I'm quite unhappy to see that you haven't fulfilled it. You should know not to disrespect a dead man's wishes."

"Now, what are you getting at–?"

"Shh! Shh! Look up and say something reassuring – she's staring at you."

His eyes whipped up and sure enough, the Lieutenant was looking at him bemusedly. He gave her an embarrassed smile and gestured to the paper he was looking at. "I skipped a line when I was reading it, and it read a whole lot differently to the original description. Don't worry – nothing big."

She looked at him a second longer before saying "yes, sir," and lowering her gaze. None of the others seemed to have noticed – they were too busy chatting amongst themselves. Roy returned to 'reading' the paper.

"Now, as I was saying, it's about time for you to get married. And we all know– hey! What are you doing?" Hughes hung onto Roy's shirt in fear of falling off.

The chair had been pushed back, and Roy was now on his feet. "Just having a bathroom break, Hawkeye," he assured his startled second-in-command, and he began to walk away from his desk.

"Colonel, you haven't signed a single paper today. You can wait until you've signed a few, surely."

"But–"

Her pen slapped down onto her desk loudly. "Unless there's something you've been hiding, you aren't a kindergartener anymore. You can hold on for another ten minutes while you get some work done."

Reddening, Roy held his ground for a moment longer before returning to his seat. He could feel Hughes smirking as he sat back down. Tiny hands smoothed out the crinkles in his jacket before settling back into a good seat.

"Now it doesn't take an idiot to know who the perfect wife for you would be." Roy knew that they had had this conversation before, at some point or another, because it sounded like a giant case of déjà-vu to him. "And you already have _some_ sort of relationship with her." Yes, and for the present that was fine. "But you haven't made it a _romantic_ relationship yet." He would advance it when he felt led – it just wasn't the right time yet. "So, you have to take the first step. Kiss her."

"_What?_" This time it wasn't just a startled statement. This comment was loud enough that even Havoc, on the other side of the room, looked up from lighting his cigarette. Roy forced a laugh. "I must be working too hard – these reports can't be saying what I _think_ they're saying."

"Haha, joker," Hughes said, poking Roy in the neck again. "You can't turn me into some old paperwork any day. Look – I'll make it easy for you. I'll sing about it. Then you'll understand. Everything is easier to understand in a song. And don't worry, none of the others can hear this because it's all in your head, nut-job."

Jaw clenched, Roy resisted the urge to push the pixie from his shoulder. Meanwhile, Hughes was preparing for the song. "Percussion . . ." Roy's eyes widened as a soft ostinato began on what sounded like a pair of bongos. The sound of a bass playing in the background behind it was quiet enough that the drums took the prominent position "Strings . . ." Now a violin struck a note, which it held as Hughes spoke. "Winds . . ." Were those flutes he could hear? "Words . . ." And Hughes began: "There you see her, sitting there across the way. She don't got a lot to say, but there's something about her."

"Wait a minute–"

"And you don't know why, but you're dying to try – you wanna kiss the girl." Hughes looked at him imperially, holding up a finger before he tried to speak again. His tone held an edge of aggravation – Roy had told him that this was unlikely many a time when Hughes was alive, and it seemed that now he was gone all of his patience was running out. "Yes, you want her."

"But–"

Hughes put a hand on his cheek and roughly pushed his head about towards the still working Hawkeye. "Look at her, you know you do. Possible she wants you, too – there is one way to ask her. It don't take a word, not a single word, go on and kiss the girl!"

By this point Roy was getting nervous. Firstly that Hughes wouldn't shut up until he did something, and secondly because he was starting to see some form of sense in what the chipmunk on his shoulder was squeaking.

Hughes began to wave his arms about, above his head, almost poking Roy in the eye several times when his hands came a little too close. "Sing with me! Sha-la-la-la-la-la, my-oh-my! Looks like the boy's too shy – ain't gonna kiss the girl!" Well he couldn't! Not at work, _and_ with all of his other subordinates in the room, too! Besides, if he tried anything on her she'd just give him the cold shoulder. "Sha-la-la-la-la-la, ain't that sad? Ain't it a shame? Too bad you gonna miss the girl."

It was true that Hawkeye was an easy person to miss – that is, when she wasn't in the heat of battle. It was more likely that she would shoot you than allow you to miss her, in that case. But she wasn't the sort of woman to draw attention to herself – other than with her infamous skill with projectiles.

"Now's your moment, right here in this sun-lit room. Boy, you'd better do it soon, no time would be better." Well, if Roy didn't kiss her now, he probably wouldn't ever. Maybe Hughes had a point, as miniscule as it was. "She don't say a word, and she won't say a word until you kiss the girl."

That was true – she wouldn't ever give him much of a response unless he kissed her, would she? Roy looked over at her, where she scribbled away at some document. She was too work-oriented. Maybe she needed a break.

"Sha-la-la-la-la-la, don't be scared – you got the mood prepared, go on and kiss the girl! Sha-la-la-la-la-la, don't stop now. Don't try to hide it, how you wanna kiss the girl." He did want to, Roy realised, he'd always just held back because he thought she's rebuff him if he tried. "Sha-la-la-la-la-la – won't take long, just listen to the song: the song say kiss the girl! Sha-la-la-la-la-la! Music play – do what the music say! You wanna kiss the girl . . . You've got to kiss the girl."

Roy edged up out of his seat.

"Why don't you kiss the girl?"

He took a few steps forwards, uneasily walking towards his Lieutenant's desk.

"You gotta kiss the girl."

Her pen stilled and she looked up at him uneasily – he had been almost silent for the past three minutes, and she had almost begun to think he was actually settling into his work instead of messing around.

"Go on and kiss the girl."

He took a breath and went in for the plunge. It wasn't until he felt his mouth land on hers that he realised he had screwed up his eyes. The lips beneath his softened from shock, and for a moment Roy expected a pair of arms to fling around his shoulders and draw him in, but all he got was a pair of hands firmly settled on his shoulders and pushing him off.

Two pairs of eyes watched each other warily. Roy almost didn't notice the other occupants of the room, but the catcalls and wolf-whistles that echoed around the walls tipped him off as to their remaining presence. All he noticed now was the surprised look on her face, and the silence of his previously oh-so helpful friend.

The noise from the other officers had died down to simple laughter by the time that she finally spoke. "You cannot go to the bathroom until you finish some work. Hurry up, sir, or you might have to resort to extreme measures."

Good ol' Hawkeye, still as business-like as always. Roy sidled back into his chair and looked at the paper on his desk.

"Very good," his pet pixie remarked. "Now, the next step is asking her out."

"Haven't you done enough?" Roy asked in wonderment, swatting at his shoulder.

"Hey! _Hey!_" Hughes was hanging on for dear life . . . well . . . Roy knew what he meant. "I'll let you know that I'm here right up until the end of the wedding ceremony."

"Wedd–? Oh no, you won't!" Roy grabbed at the imp on his shoulder, and opened a window, a protesting Hughes dangling from his hand. Roy took a step back before holding his friend out before him . . . letting go . . . and punting him out the window.

"I'll be baaaaaaaaaaaack!" Hughes cry became softer as he flew a further distance. Finally, somewhere on the down-curve, Roy couldn't see or hear the man, and slammed the window shut. He turned back to see the curious stares of his subordinates.

"Just needed to stretch," he said weakly before sitting back down and picking up his pen. He had scanned through the first paper on the pile and signed it when he realised that he might have to resort to extreme measures after all. Now that Cupid was gone, he did need to use the toilet after all. Maybe if he asked Hawkeye out, she would let him go – it would kill three birds with one stone: he'd be happy because he would have an empty bladder and a date with the woman he'd admired for some time; she's be happy because she'd have a date with Roy Mustang – who wouldn't be happy? – and Maes would be happy that they were progressing further. What a perfect ending!


End file.
